Page 133 of Hockey Halloween
She gasps at the press of my full arousal.
“Liar. You’re far from dying,” she says with a playful movement of her ass.
“Glad you noticed,” I whisper against her ear.
She moans and throws her head back to give me access to her delicious neck.
“You’re hard to miss,” she mumbles. “Like a warning label.”
The words make us both pause. We are entering uncharted territory. I don’t want to stop, but doesshe?
Ligaya turns around to face me. Her brown eyes are blown into dark circles.
“Why did you leave the other day?” she asks.
“I would have stayed too long.” My answer is instant and honest.
“What’s wrong with staying longer?”
“I just moved back into town.”
“What does that have to do with me?” she asks, her brows pinching in what looks like genuine confusion.
She waits for my response, casual and infuriatingly unbothered. Then her eyes narrow like she’s putting two and two together.
“Wait a minute. When you mentioned ‘staying longer,’ did you think I was going to ask you to, what, be my boyfriend? Maybe move in?”
“No,” I answer too quickly, the word snapping out of me.
Her lips curl at the corners. “You sure about that? Did you think I had a fridge magnet ready for our vacation pictures, Tristan? Or maybe a Pinterest board of our beach wedding?”
She’s practically chortling now, her hand flicking in the air like the idea is too ridiculous to even land.
The truth is, when she describes the scenario that way, my hesitation does seem a little ridiculous. Maybe Iamoverreacting.
I shift my weight, my fingers twitching to grab her again. I study her smiling yet perfectly unreadable face and decide to go for it.
“What are you proposing, Ligaya?”
She leans back to assess me, as if she’s choosing from a menu of bad decisions.
“One night. Scratch the itch. Then we go back to being acquaintances who pretend it never happened.”
“What a romantic.”
“Do you want candles?” She arches a brow. “I’ve got a Glade plug-in at home.”
She says it with a smirk, but her gaze doesn’t waver. There’s heat behind the joke, a glimmer of challenge.
“You’re serious,” I utter, incredulously.
“Why not? Aren’t you curious what it would be like to be ruined by your high school nemesis?”
My throat dries up, making me sound like the thirsty man that I am.
“So, youhavebeen wanting me to ruin you.” My teasing tone hides the relief flooding my chest. She’s not shutting me down. She’s here, sharp-tongued and direct, and I can handle this version of her. Especially if it leads tomoreof her.
“You’ve got it the other way around, Tristan. I’m the one doing the ruining, thank you very much.”
